


Horseplay

by AvatarMN



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alien Technology, American History, Anal Fisting, Anal Gaping, Anal Sex, Animal Transformation, Animal-on-Animal Rape, Animals, Anthropomorphic, Barn, Barn Sex, Begging, Bestiality, Bloodplay, Body Hair, Bukkake, Caretaking, Chocolate, Cock Slut, Cock Worship, Colonialism, Come Inflation, Come Marking, Come Swallowing, Come as Lube, Comeplay, Comfort, Creampie, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dom/sub, Dominant Masochism, Excessive Semen, Facials, Fluff and Angst, Foot Fetish, Foot Jobs, Furry, Gangbang, Grief/Mourning, Hand Jobs, Healing Sex, Horse E. Aster Bunnymund, Horses, Human E. Aster Bunnymund, Hurts So Good, Kissing, Large Cock, M/M, Magic Cock, Masochism, Memory Loss, Mentor/Protégé, Minor Character Death, Misunderstandings, Naked Cuddling, Native American Character(s), Near Death Experiences, Oral Sex, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Power Bottom, Pre-Canon, Promises, Pushy Bottoms, Púca | Pooka, Rescue, Reunions, Rough Sex, Semen Kink, Separations, Sex Magic, Shapeshifter, Shapeshifter sex, Size Difference, Size Kink, Sleepy Cuddles, Soft Cock Sex, Stomach Bulge, Transformation, True Love, Wet & Messy, belly bulge, extreme penetration, in a brief scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 13:54:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1860468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvatarMN/pseuds/AvatarMN
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack Frost and E. Aster Bunnymund did not meet for the first time on Easter, 1968.  In his lifetime, Jackson Overland knew and loved the Pooka when he was Yaster of the Algonquin tribes.  Horse-master and patron of the embattled Overland family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Horseplay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kattastic99](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kattastic99/gifts).



> Did you know that the púca (pooka) of Celtic myth; shape-shifting fae spirits; were as much or more associated with horse form than rabbit form?
> 
> Did you know that _Rise of the Guardians_ made an error when it portrayed an English family in the area now known as Michigan, in 1712? From 1534 to 1763, the territory was a part of Canada and the colonists there were French.
> 
> It occurred to me that perhaps there was more to the tension between Jack Frost and Bunnymund than Jack knew. Maybe he didn't meet the Pooka for the _first_ time when Jack ruined Easter in 1968. Perhaps Jack just didn't remember him, and that contributed to the antagonism Bunny felt toward him. Maybe back in 1712, the Pooka didn't yet hang out in Australia; maybe he hung out with different native tribes on the other side of the world. And maybe he was the reason that the English Overland family was in French territory.
> 
>  
> 
> **Warning for bestiality, extreme penetration, and barrels of cum. And brief horse-on-horse rape.**

_Michilimackinac, Canada, New France. Autumn, 1711.  
(Modern Day Burgess, Michigan.)_

Jackson Overland ground the bulbous head of the horse's cock against the back of his throat and gagged. Saliva bubbled out of his lips and over his chin. The heavy flesh pressed on his tongue, bulged his cheeks, and both of his hands pulled on the long shaft; twisting and tugging at the dark and velvety skin.

But no matter how hard Jackson tried, he just couldn't get the big flat head of a horse cock to go down his throat.

Hickory stamped one hoof and whickered. Jackson turned his bare knee into the hay-covered floorboards and held tight. The horse flesh in his hands began to throb and pulse, and the first powerful gush of fluids erupted into his mouth. He swallowed desperately, having to make a conscious effort not to bite down against the violence of the torrent.

Jackson coughed hard at the second eruption, and the milky white fluid burst from his nose and flooded around the thick tube in his mouth, running down his naked chest. He swallowed great gulps of cum but most of it escaped and coated his skin, head to foot. 

As the flow reduced to a trickle, Hickory's rapidly diminishing cock pulled from Jackson's mouth with a pop and slipped through his slimy fingers, retreating back into the stallion's body. The horse clopped away, snorting.

Jackson was left kneeling in a puddle of wet straw, panting hard. He cradled his sore jaw with one hand, and swiped the other through his messy chestnut brown hair, slicking it with semen. He shook it out and it fell around his eyes in wet clumps. Then his hand stroked through the slime on his belly and he grasped the root of his semi-hard organ and tugged on it with slippery fingers, teasing it fully erect. 

He looked up and saw all of the other stallions gathered around, impatiently waiting their turn. Jackson stood and bent over a stile. Presenting his ass to the horses, he reached under and hooked two fingers into his asshole, pulling at the rim and making it gape.

"Tupelo!" Jackson called, looking over his shoulder. He slapped his thigh and clucked his tongue. "Here, boy."

The stallion snorted and strutted over. His long cock flexed and jumped. A bar spanned the end of the stall, over Jackson's head. Tupelo used it as trained, rearing up to hook it with his forelegs. He rested his great bulk on the bar and his hind legs pranced with excitement as his hips made stabbing motions, trying to find his target with the flared tip of his massive prick. 

The searching organ prodded Jackson's thigh, and he snatched it with his fist. He guided the blunt head to his entrance and with another impatient stab, the boy was impaled.

Jackson grunted loudly, the wind driven out of him by the impact of the gigantic horse cock slamming into his guts. He was knocked off his feet, and his hands clutched at the stile underneath him. His legs spasmed and his toes scraped the floor boards, grasping for purchase. Tupelo's cock was withdrawn and then hammered back into him; the horse's need so relentless, so merciless. Jackson's fragile-looking form was pounded a few times more, and then with the usual abruptness, the beast was coming. Tupelo held still and snorted, buried deep within the boy. 

Jackson could feel it explode in his middle. A warm rush as the spray hit his guts, forced through his winding passages with powerful bursts. The hard rod of its flesh between his legs penetrating and spraying so deep that Jackson could almost imagine that it washed his heart; the heart which beat so hard that he could feel it throb in his extremities. In the hands and feet that desperately clutched for something solid while his body was being thrashed. In the head that swam with the warring yet complimentary emotions of pleasure and fear, for he was utterly helpless underneath this mighty animal. He could feel it in his cock that throbbed and twitched, so excited by every element in play.

Tupelo heaved his body, lurching back over the bar and coming down on all fours. His diminishing cock vacated Jackson, and the boy gasped at the pull, followed by a profound emptiness. Cum splashed his thighs and streaked the floorboards. Tupelo whickered and stamped aside, making way for the next horse in line.

Sycamore was aggressive, crazed by the smell of sex. He shouldered the other stallion's rump in his haste to make the conquest. The horse launched himself over the bar, and his prick glanced off of Jackson's back.

"Wait," the boy complained. "Aaaauggkh!" he cried out as Sycamore's second thrust found its leaky, gaping target and bashed through. In one smooth motion, the head of the horse's dick hit Jackson's sternum and the boy's teeth snapped closed on his tongue. He gurgled, tasting blood and grasping the bulge that protruded from his chest. The fingers of both of his hands curled around the bump, pressing with a lusty fascination even as he was terrified. His own cock spontaneously popped, sending long arcs of jizz through the air. 

Jackson whimpered, tears falling from his eyes to mix with his seed where it lay on the floor. Sycamore sighed deeply, and took a few gentler strokes before he was bathing Jackson's guts in his own semen. The boy squeezed his thighs on the pulsing meat of the stallion's great cock, and licked tears from his lips. He felt the torn edge of his tongue stitch closed as it swept over the chapped skin, and he knew that any damage inside of him was also being quickly repaired.

Jackson whispered a hushed prayer to his otherworldly patron for the gift that allowed him to endure such exquisite torture and rapture.

Jackson slumped off of the stile in a turning motion that let him fall somewhat hard on his battered rump. He faced the waiting horses and warded them off with a beseeching hand.

"Just a second, guys. Let me catch my breath," he panted, placing his head between his knees and cradling his belly with his arms. Horses stomped their hooves and snorted. Cocks unsheathed and bobbing. Soon Jackson huffed and pushed himself to his knees, then rose and shoved aside the stile, replacing it with a bale of hay covered with a rough wool blanket. He sat on it and addressed his herd.

"Come, Filbert," Jackson snapped his fingers and clucked. "Good boy."

Jackson knelt and touched the horse's snout, cooing and whispering to him. He patted and calmed the beast, hugging him around the neck and stroking his shoulder. The jittery horse relaxed.

Jackson lay back as the big horse mounted the bar. The boy raised his legs, pressing the soles of his feet where the stallion's hind legs met his body. He stroked the velvety skin stretched over cords of muscle with his sensitive feet. Such a such a beautiful animal. So hot-blooded and majestic.

Jackson grasped the curving length of the beast's maleness and pulled, coaxing Filbert closer. Hooves scraped wood, that familiar excited shuffle of an urgent lover. The boy bent his legs, feeling the weight of the massive barrel chest press down on him as he guided the head of the cock to his throbbing, puffy opening.

Filbert pushed, and that hard tube of flesh thrust through Jackson's hands, spreading him open and driving deep. Jackson grunted and held tight, his fingers digging into horse flesh. Trying to control his impalement, to make Filbert be more gentle and last longer. The horse whickered softly and Jackson loosened his grip. 

Horse cock retreated through the boy's fingers, dragging along a coating of the cum left inside Jackson by the other horses. His hands became slippery, and the prong pushed forward again more slowly. Stroking the boy's palms and gently driving deep. Jackson groaned and curved his back, watching the head of Filbert's organ displace his guts and push at the skin above his navel. A round bulge rose, and Jack hissed his awe. There was nothing so exhilarating. The bulge rose and fell a few more times with the horse's slow strokes, but the animals simply never lasted long. 

Filbert shuddered and Jackson was filled with another massive deposit. His eyes rolled back as he rode the waves. The stallion soon retreated through his fingers and the boy groaned and tried to keep it in, but he couldn't get purchase on the slimy, softening meat as it vacated him. He pressed his hands to his opening, squeezing his thighs and turning his hips to the side slightly. He tried to hold the cum in, but it squirted through his quivering hole, squelching through his fingers.

God, he was so full.

Jackson felt breath on his face and he opened his eyes to see Spruce looming over him, on the bar and waiting. Jackson raised a dripping hand to the horse's snout and he nuzzled back, huffing.

Jackson rolled his hips back over and opened his legs, granting Spruce admittance. Hard flesh was forced inside him again and he raised his legs, hooking his heels around the base of the long, long cock. The stallion took the boy in short, shallow strokes and Jackson cradled the shaft between his feet, hugged by the curves of his instep. Spruce pushed deeper and Jackson tickled the shaft with the toes of one foot, and extended his other leg to nudge the heavy sack of the horse's testicles with the other. Gently fucked, Jackson found nothing more calming than to touch a horse companion with his feet.

The peace was shattered when Larch lost his patience and mounted Spruce, violently penetrating the other stallion. Spruce shrieked, and his weight was thrust down onto Jackson. The boy screamed too, as the impact went through his guts, and then Spruce was coming inside him. Pleasure and pain rocked Jackson's body and with a few sharp thrusts, Larch climaxed inside of the other horse. He hastily retreated, and Jackson's feet were sprayed with hot cum.

Spruce vacated Jack's belly, and his breath came out in a whoosh. The wounded horse bucked and neighed but the offender retreated, taking refuge behind the other horses. 

Jackson heaved himself to his feet, stumbling and weaving dangerously around Spruce's clattering hooves. He managed to calm the stallion, and inspect his rump. Pinkish cum leaked from it, and without hesitation Jackson bit down hard on the web between his thumb and his forefinger. 

The boy spread the welling blood over the swollen mound of the stallion's anus. Spruce flinched but didn't bolt, calmed by Jackson's voice and touch. The tear in the beast's opening mended, same as the tooth marks in Jackson's skin had sealed over. The potions in the boy's blood could help his animal friend, if applied directly. 

Jackson peaked his fingers and cooed to the horse as he pushed his fist just inside the fleshy pucker. His hand sunk to the wrist, and Jackson paused to let him get used to it, to let his smeared blood do its work. Then the boy withdrew his hand. He bit again at the web, then bit more savagely at his wrist. Sweat broke out on his forehead, and he sobbed, his chest hitching.

But Jackson endured the pain, and put his hand back inside of Spruce. He pushed deeper, searching for any other ruptures. His arm sunk in, and it felt amazing. The horse's guts were warm and wet on his skin. His bites were already soothed, and his skin tingled. Spruce was very calm, the sting and fire of his own wounds wiped away by contact with the magic in Jackson's blood. Wonderful, slippery sucking sounds filled the air as the boy pushed his arm to the elbow, so far that his cheek touched rump and came away swabbed with cum, and then he withdrew again to the wrist. Larch's semen coated his arm, and it bubbled around the rim of Spruce's asshole. Jackson became excited, growing hard again. 

Jackson grinned broadly as he saw Spruce's cock extend, too, and when he pushed all the way to his elbow, spreading traces of his blood along his entire reach, then withdrew to the wrist and plunged again, Spruce came for a second time. The powerful ring of his anal muscles contracted and twitched around Jackson's shoulder, and tail hairs tickled his face. The boy laughed with delight, as he heard horse cum patter on the floor.

Then Jackson felt a presence. His beaming face instantly switched over to a reverent, slack expression. He pulled his arm from the stallion with a loud squelch, and he turned. The horses parted, bowing their heads in submission as a figure walked through the herd. 

It was Jackson's patron. Yaster had come. 

The tall man strode through the barn, head held regally high at his six-and-a-half feet of stature. Upon that proud head was a strange headdress, arranged with long eagle pinions that stretched tall from either side of his head. His hair was gray, though he was not old, and he was mostly naked. His bronze skin was banded around his arms and thighs with markings that reminded Jackson of water lilies, or a three-peaked leaf. He wasn't sure what they were meant to be, and he'd never asked. His eyes shone green in the dark, before his large moccasin-clad feet stepped into the lantern light.

He had the appearance of a native Indian, but Jackson knew he was not. Yaster was from the stars, though he called himself a Pooka. Like the fae spirit from Celtic myth, Yaster was a shape-shifter. But apart from that the connections were sparse, as far as Jackson could tell.

All Jackson really knew was that he loved Yaster, and his heart soared with happiness at the sight of him. The boy ran into the shaman's open arms.

"There is a heavy air, little one," Yaster observed, folding the cum-streaked boy in his arms. "What has happened?"

"Larch didn't wait his turn at me, and he hurt Spruce. Forced himself on him," Jackson mumbled, cheek pressed to Yaster's firm chest. The patch gray of hair there was coarse but soft. 

"Is that so?" Yaster glowered, placing one hand on Jackson's sticky head and turning toward the offending stallion. The boy's arms fell away and he stayed put while Yaster strode toward the criminal. 

Larch hung his head low, and flinched as Yaster's hand landed softly on his flank. He raised his head at the shaman's beckoning, and their foreheads touched for a few moments. Silent communication passed between them, and finally Larch whined and backed into the corner of a stall, and he lay down, miserable. The other horses stamped close, then as one they turned away from him and stood at attention, facing Yaster.

The shaman nodded, satisfied. He turned back to his consort, finding Jackson standing patiently with hard cock in front of him and hands folded behind his back. The boy's solemn expression turned to a rakish grin when Yaster smiled at him, and he returned to the shaman's arms.

"I want more, Yaster. I'm not satisfied," Jackson ground himself against his patron, whining.

"Nor am I, little one. I haven't even begun," Yaster's rumbled in reply. He hooked his hands under Jackson's armpits and lifted the much smaller boy to his face.

Jackson laced his hands behind the Pooka's neck, locking eyes with his lusty gaze and biting his lip. He folded his legs around Yaster's waist and his patron supported his bottom by cupping one large hand under it, and with the other he gripped the human's sloppy hair and pulled his head in for a kiss. 

Jackson clung to Yaster as the big man's mouth explored his aggressively, tongue driving deep and making the boy cough and swallow. Yaster carried him to the bale and laid himself over the wool blanket, wriggling boy covering him with urgently clutching arms and legs. Kissing softer, then hard again, then soft. Congealing horse cum smearing the shaman and growing sticky on their skin, until sweat began to break out of their pores and made it slick again.

Finally Yaster held Jackson's head between both hands and pushed him away. The boy straddled his chest and his eyes were half-lidded with lust. He licked his puffy lips with the pink tip of his tongue, missing the soft weight of his patron's tongue. Yaster sighed. Jackson was so beautiful.

"Bare my loins, little one," Yaster ordered.

Jackson's expression sobered, his eyes becoming wide and alert. A broad grin spread across his mouth and he sprang into action, pivoting and swinging his leg over his patron's trunk. He knelt beside the big man and his fingers worked to twist and untie the bulging loincloth. Jackson reverently laid the garment open and released the Pooka's cock.

It stood from a dense thatch of dark gray fur, a human organ but so very large. Its thick mast jutted out and curved back toward the shaman's body. Corded with fat veins that made it look immensely powerful, and the bulging head was swaddled with a cuff of dusky, wrinkled skin. The tip showed, and a crystal clear bead of precum formed as Jackson watched. Perfectly round, growing until it collapsed under its weight and the droplet oozed slow like honey. Saliva flooded Jackson's open mouth while he watched the band of fluid touch Yaster's belly and turn, coiling and spreading into a little puddle on his skin.

Jackson whined desperately, his fingers flexing against palms that itched to touch it. Yaster finally had mercy.

"Greet it properly, little one," he granted his consort permission, and the boy pounced. 

Jackson gripped Yaster's cock in both hands, but the head and two inches of shaft remained uncovered. Its girth was such that his long graceful fingers didn't nearly wrap around it. The ravenous boy closed his lips around the exposed tip. His tongue lapped at the slit and savored the precum, and he groaned loudly. He sucked and worked the shaft, drawing more of the crystal liquid into his mouth and down his throat. He inserted his tongue between the head and forskin, to circle the crown. His patron's heavy hand lit on his head, and ruffled his sticky hair. When it cupped his cheek, he nuzzled the broad palm and opened his eyes, looking into the shaman's for approval.

Yaster breathed heavily, powerful chest expanding and falling. He smiled and nodded at his consort.

"Mount me now, little one. Give me your ass," he grumbled.

Jackson obeyed without delay, throwing his leg over the Pooka again. He braced his hands on the big fuzzy chest and pushed his rump back at his patron's cock. It fell between the mounds of his ass, laying fat and heavy in his cleft, still slick with leaking horse cum. The swollen lips of his opening were so inflamed that Yaster could feel the nub of it as the boy shoved his hips back, and rocked them up and down the mighty shaft, moistening it with sticky strands of cum. 

"Now, pet," Yaster ordered, and Jackson's hands went to his ass, spreading his cheeks and pulling at the rim of his hole. He gaped his entrance a little, and rubbed the Pooka's cock until he felt the tip prod his opening. Then in an expert, practiced movement, he raised his hips and brought himself down on it. The fat head of the shaman's cock pierced the boy and stretched him open. With a straightening of his spine and and a settling of his weight, Jackson was impaled. Yaster was sheathed in him, tight and warm. Jackson didn't stop until he was sitting on balls, and then he began to roll his hips, fucking himself on the Pooka's hard prick like the true cock slut he was.

Jackson arched and bucked, bouncing on the big man's hips. He shook his chestnut hair, dried and crispy tips rattling together. His patron filled him, and he loved it. It was small compared to the horses, but he loved Yaster. The man who saved his remaining family when his father's native-sympathizing ways got him killed by their fellow English neighbors and forced the family West. His father's friendship with Yaster saved Jackson and his mother, two sisters, and his brother, when the Algonquin-allied Pooka took them across native-controlled land and deposited them safely among the French settlers in Michilimackinac. 

Jackson owed Yaster for not only his life and the lives of his surviving family, but for a sexual awakening that lifted his body and spirit. Prompted in him a want to let go of his grief, bringing him happiness that made him a good provider for his dependents. Yaster was his everything.

Jackson ground himself into his lover, his alien protector. His cock bounced and slapped against his belly. He panted and sweat. Yaster watched him. He knew the boy was aware of his beauty, and he knew how to use it. He clucked his tongue.

"Bloody show pony," Yaster muttered affectionately. 

Then suddenly, Yaster's hands closed around his hips, and slowed the boy's frenetic motion. Jackson opened his eyes and regarded the shaman with curious expectancy.

"I'm going to change," Yaster stated simply.

"Oh god, yes!" Jackson exclaimed slumping his shoulders reverently. He squeezed Yaster's hips with his thighs. "Thank you, sir! Thank you," he whimpered, leaning over and stroking his patron's face with one trembling hand.

Yaster took a few deep breaths, and Jackson could feel power building in the air. The air became thick, a pressure settling on them. A few moments of this oppressive weight continued, then it became eerily calm. Jackson held his breath.

"Now, little one," Yaster said, and with a thump the collected pressure whooshed out from the Pooka's body in a sudden burst. Jackson's crispy fringe blew back from his forehead, and then the shaman began to change. 

Short, speckled fur rushed out from the center of Yaster's chest, swirling along his limbs and over his face until he was covered in a velvety, shiny coat. His muscles bulged and he grew larger, his weight increasing by 40% in a few moments. His eyes darkened over, turning black, and his face stretched until he took the appearance of a horse-man. His fingers remained human, but Jackson knew his legs reformed until they were unguligrade, and his feet became hooves.

But these transformations weren't of the most immediate concern to Jackson. The immediate impact came from what was happening to the part of Yaster's body that was nestled deep inside of him. 

Yaster's human cock rapidly expanded. Just more than doubling in girth, it dilated his asshole so fast that if it were not for the Pooka's potions and treatments that he regularly fed the boy, his flesh would have been torn and his pelvis cracked. Instead his ring remained whole but stung sweetly, sending bolts of pleasure into his balls and stiffening the boy's already tumescent cock. 

Yaster's massive organ grew longer, dramatically so. Quadrupling in length within only a few seconds, it extended, displacing the boy's magically fortified organs and striking his sternum. Still it grew, and Jackson arched his back and screamed his ecstasy until his throat was raw. The horse-man's cock protruded obscenely from the slender boy's belly, folding and forming a shocking bulge when the head caught on human's sternum and still the powerful shaft grew a few more inches.

The boy's trembling hands went to the bulge, and he touched it reverently. Splaying his fingers over his stretched skin and squeezing. His own cock convulsed and he came, firing streamers of cum over Yaster's chest and face.

"Oh god," he wheezed, his lungs compressed and straining. "You're so big, Yaster. So big..."

"Your insides give me such a warm welcome, little one," Yaster murmured.

"My body remembers your shape," Jackson panted. Sincere, large brown eyes gazing at his lover's. "And it feels empty without you. When you're not inside me, I feel lonely."

"I'm here, little one," Yaster crooned, wiping tears from the corners of his consort's eyes with the pads of his thumbs. "You will be mine forever."

Yaster linked his hands to Jackson's for support, and the boy shakily got to his feet. He bent his knees and squatted deeply, then flexed his thighs and raised himself on the tremendous column of the Pooka's horse cock, then settled down again. 

"Yes, that's it," Yaster groaned encouragingly.

Jackson found his pace, and slowly but steadily bounced on his lover's enormous prick. Folding his back on the up strokes, arching on the down strokes. The shaman watched the boy's belly bulge. Watched his youthful face drip sweat and tears, twisting with pleasure that truly stretched his limits to the breaking point. Rivulets of cum from the other horses still ran down the black skin of his cock, and coated his hefty balls. This boy! This boy was incredible. His heart thudded in his swelling chest as he panted and grunted.

The boy fucked himself for as long as he could, until his quivering thighs gave out, and he collapsed against Yaster. He folded his arms around his consort and gently rolled them over. Staying buried deep in the human's guts, Yaster supported himself on his arms and folded Jackson in half, pressing the knees back to the boy's own chest, and placing the boy's slender ankles around the Pooka's ears. Yaster loomed over Jackson, and the human's bleary eyes looked between his knees at the center of the horse-shifter's powerful chest and the adam's apple bobbing at the base of his lengthened throat. Jackson groaned and whined.

"It feels so good," Jackson whispered.

Yaster gave his consort a break, and raised his hips high and fucked the boy with short shallow strokes for awhile. The human's tense muscles loosened after a few minutes, and his hands began to stroke the Pooka's ribs. He started to push back against his patron's strokes, so Yaster drove deeper again. Jackson's moans increased and his touch grew stronger as Yaster gradually pushed farther, until he was folding himself against the boy's bones again.

"I'm close, little one," Yaster warned.

"Ooohhh," Jackson's groan was high pitched. "Yeah, give it to me, please! Fill me up. Sir, please. Fill me!"

Yaster thrust deep and released. The loose black skin around his heavy balls pulled tight against his body, and he came. The first blast hit Jackson's guts, and the boy bucked against him, crying out. The shaman raised himself enough to let Jackson straighten his legs and clamp down with his thighs on the few inches of cock that didn't fit inside him. 

Another gush and Jackson's cry trembled, coming out as a high warble. Yaster's cum rushed through the winding passages of his guts. He could feel it, so acutely. It made him weep. He clutched his stomach, and the Pooka shot again. The boy felt his tummy expand. Another gush, and he was flooded even deeper. It was indescribable, the pleasure was unbelievable. Another spurt. And again. The boy cried out, helpless but so happy. His otherworldly lover was dumping everything he had inside of him, and Jackson was opened entirely to him. 

"It's soaking into me!" was Jackson's strangled cry. He felt he was being claimed completely, utterly taken 

Jackson coughed, tears leaking from his squeezed eyes. Then he belched, and he tasted cum. His eyes flew open. He slapped his hand against Yaster's chest, and the Pooka raised himself enough to look at Jackson's face with concern. His cock gave another contraction and heaved one last gout of semen into the boy's rounded belly. Jackson burped again, and when he opened his mouth, it was full of cum.

Jackson gagged, and his gorge rose and spilled over his lips. Yaster lifted his head, and pulled his cock from the boy. Its tremendous length took time to vacate Jackson, and his consort clutched his tummy with one hand and Yaster's cock with the other as it slid out and out, softening and dragging heavily across the blanket until finally the fat flared head was free and cum rushed out of the boy from both ends. 

Pooka cum was thick like custard, and it piled as much as spread between Jackson's legs as it ran out of his ass. It hung from his lips, running thick and slow, draping over his chin in a white syrupy curtain. He bit it, cutting, and it fell with a splat onto his thigh. Yaster clapped his back, and Jackson coughed, exploding streamers of cum ejecting from his mouth, hanging in quivering ropes from his lips as he drew a deep breath. 

Yaster held him to his chest until his ragged breathing settled, and he brushed and pulled strands of cum from his chin.

"Are you alright, little one?" Yaster inquired.

"I'm great," came Jackson's dreamy reply. He laughed at his own giddy tone.

Yaster poked around in the pouch attached to his discarded loincloth, extracting a brightly colored egg streaked with yellow, pink, and aqua. He touched it to Jackson's lips, and the boy opened up and drew it in with his tongue, suckling gratuitously on his patron's fingertip. He bit into the egg and the sharp flavor of chocolate filled his mouth, blending with cum. He felt the tingle of magic go down his throat as he swallowed, the otherworldly shaman's potions enhancing his durability and natural healing process.

Jackson licked chocolate from his teeth and cheeks, finding cum in the nooks and crannies. The tough strands of Pooka semen caught between his teeth and he sucked at them. A futile effort. Sometimes hours after being made love to by Yaster, Jackson found a scrap of his lover's cum clinging to his teeth and felt happy for the reminder that he was still with him.

Jackson scooted down the horse-man's body, and curled an arm around his powerful thighs, to grasp the semi-erect shaft of his cock loosely in his fist. He nuzzled the furry belly with his cheek, nosing the warm, dark shaft and caressing it with his lips. It smelled musky and wonderful. The boy's lips massaged the fat, flat tip and pulled it into his mouth without using his hands to help. It was large, packing his mouth full, but very soft and spongy. He sucked, compressing it with his cheeks and tongue.

The young consort and his ancient patron lay this way until sweat and cum dried tight on their skin, so it cracked and flaked when they moved. Jackson suckled the tip of the horse cock, and kept nursing it after the Pooka changed back to human and it dwindled to a size that the boy could gulp, swallowing the soft flesh into his throat. Yaster could have gotten hard again with little delay, but he didn't. He controlled his flesh and kept it inert, because he knew that wasn't what Jackson was looking for. He liked to do this. And so the boy coughed the flaccid organ back into his mouth when he at last required a breath and he kept it there, a comforting weight on his tongue as he drifted of to sleep. 

Yaster watched him, tracing the rim of Jackson's ear with his fingertip, rifling idly in his crisp hair. Sleeping with his chestnut-colored head pillowed on his hip and his his cock lodged between his lips.

  


* * *

  


A few months later, Jackson was dead. Fallen through ice and drowned. When Mrs. Overland told Yaster he dove into the pond in search of the body, but couldn't find it. The instruments in his starship could locate no sign of him either.

The loss broke the Pooka. He'd suffered so much loss in his life, but this was too much. He abandoned the continent, traveling to the other side of the globe and taking up patronage over another native population. He changed his form and changed his name, and E. Aster Bunnymund did the best he could to forget the boy with the chocolate brown eyes.

Then came April 14, 1968. Bunnymund's new annual diversion was ruined when North America experienced a freak snowstorm on Easter weekend. His instruments revealed that this wasn't a natural occurrence, and the grouchy new Aster searched for the eye of the storm, zeroing in on Burgess, Michigan.

He found a boy. Tall and slender, carrying a crook and dancing on the wind with unshod feet. When Bunnymund bounded through the snow and tackled the laughing imp, he finally saw the face of the prankster. Curses died in his suddenly tight throat.

"Jackson..." he whispered in strangled amazement.

The spritely boy shoved at him with hands and feet, easily extricating himself from the Pooka's slack arms. He drove the butt of his crook into the ground and flipped head over heels to land on the hooked end, those unforgettable nimble toes clinging and balancing him there in a crouched posture. The kid looked down at Bunnymund with sparkling blue eyes, and spoke in the voice that the Pooka had failed to forget. 

"Whoah there, big guy!" Jackson laughed. "That's not my name."

"Jackson, what are you..?" Bunnymund furrowed his brow and closed the gap between them with couple of long bounds, he swatted the crook away and caught his long-lost lover in a hug. But the boy struggled.

"Hey, get off me! What do you think you're doing?" the boy pushed away again and took a defensive posture, his face angry.

"But, I..." Bunnymund stammered, his heart aching. It was Jackson, he knew it. His hair was white now, and his eyes blue. But it was him. The crook, the frayed trousers, the face. It was him!

"You're close, but my name's Jack Frost. And I want you to keep your hands off me, okay?" Jackson demanded. "What makes you think you can touch me like that?"

Bunnymund was struck silent with confusion. Of course! Jackson couldn't recognize him this way. Aster shifted to human form, standing naked in the snow and opening his arms in a beseeching gesture.

"Wow, buddy, is that supposed to impress me?" Jackson rolled his eyes. "Well, to be honest it is pretty impress... No! Don't come any closer! I mean it!" he waved his crook threateningly.

Bunnymund's newly reconstituted heart broke again. Jackson blamed him for what happened. Hadn't he told the boy he'd always protect him? But he survived, and Yaster had fled the continent after a search of the pond and an sweep with his instruments. Obviously, he should have tried harder. And now Jackson hated him for his abandonment.

Grouchy Aster stamped his feelings down again, and locked them in a small box at the corner of his heart. He'd done it for all these three hundred years, and he could do it again. He returned Jack Frost's antagonism, and treated him like the trouble making, irresponsible spirit that he'd become instead of the boy that he once had loved.

For another 44 years, until the Man in the Moon selected the bloody show pony to be a Guardian. The spiteful imp continued to act like Aster was nothing to him, and flirted with the enemy instead. The Pooka felt sick from growing feelings of dislike for the boy, and then after Toothiana's palace was ransacked by Pitch Black, a revelation knocked the breath from Bunnymund.

Jack Frost didn't _remember_ being Jackson Overland. He wasn't just _acting_ like he didn't know the Pooka, he really didn't know him! 

After the battle was won and the villain defeated, the other veteran Guardians said goodbye to the children of Burgess and dispersed. Bunnymund lingered, looking down and digging nervously at the snow with his hind claws. 

"So it's just us, now," Jack Frost said, doing jaunty turns on his heel in the ice. "We seem to have made friends with each other at last."

"Uh, yeah, seems that way," Bunnymund stammered, as the boy strode toward him and laid a hand on his fluffy shoulder.

"C'mere," Jack whispered, smiling devilishly. "I have to tell you a secret."

Aster trembled, but bent close. The new Guardian grasped one of his long, drooping ears. He brought his face close, until his lips tickled the tufts of fur around them.

"I remember everything," Jackson whispered. "Yaster."

Yaster straightened in surprise, his eyes wide and welling with tears. He opened his arms one more time, and Jackson finally fell into his embrace.

"Am I still yours?" Jackson sniffled, dampening Yaster's fur.

"Forever, little one," came the Pooka's reply.

**Author's Note:**

> Gonzo porn suddenly hit you in the face with feels at the end there, huh? XD Thanks for reading. I live for comments and kudos!
> 
> This story was heavily influenced by this glorious [were!horsecock transformation gif](http://horseplayyiff.tumblr.com/post/54106600946).


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